To start this blog, I’ll be posting semi-frequently so that I can get some of my older written work out to the public (or as I’m writing this, five people and my Facebook friends) and then get on a more regular schedule. I don’t write every day but I do my best. On some days I’ll opt to read instead because I treat that as studying to become a better writer. Also, my work tends to have a darker spin on it. You’ll start to see more into my mind with each thing that I post, and hopefully it doesn’t scare you away.
This piece was written because of a thought that I had every night for about four months, until I finally decided to write about it. After that, the thoughts left and I was left instead with this short. I hope you like it.
*Note: this has nothing to do with whales
Every night before I fall asleep, I have this profound vision of me holding a harpoon gun. Just like every harpoon gun that’s existed before it, it has a spike on the end that will pierce whatever it hits. It won’t fall away and it certainly won’t break. In this nightly vision, I shoot this harpoon out of the gun and it launches into the air, but tied to the back is a noose, which is tightly wrapped around my neck.
Depending on the night, the outcome changes. If I’m feeling science-y, I’ll try to estimate how fast the harpoon would need to travel to either break my neck or just rip my head clean off. If I’m feeling extravagant, I imagine myself in a large cathedral, and when I shoot the harpoon, I’m lifted high into the air and suspended in a religious-looking pose, resembling the inappropriate elegance of the crucifixion. When I’m feeling dark, the harpoon goes straight into my bedroom ceiling and I’m left alone, waiting to be discovered by family, friends or whoever smells my rotten corpse dangling above the now stained carpet.
After I have these odd thoughts, I’m left in the dark of my room. I don’t have a harpoon gun or a noose. I don’t have the courage to do it without a harpoon gun and I don’t have the cowardice or smarts to see if it would work in the first place. But every night, I’ll have this same thought. And every night it’ll be the same inescapable goodnight that my imagination plays for me, as if hoping that my dreams are filled with the same nightmarish thoughts that inhabit my brain throughout the day.